


last night i dreamed you said you loved me (and it was oh so vivid and sweet)

by octoaliencowboy



Category: DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Fluff, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, I literally always end up roasting dicks dire kitchen situation in like all my fics, Love Confessions, M/M, No editing we die like mne, actually not true I did edit it a little bit, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 01:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoaliencowboy/pseuds/octoaliencowboy
Summary: Tiger finds Dick, wasted, deep in an emotional gutter. He pulls him out and helps him feel better.





	1. Rough Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually just the thing I submitted for day three of Dicktiger week this year (the prompt was “drunk”) except I wrote a second part to it and it’s pretty good stuff so enjoy. First chapter is the thing I wrote already second is the part 2

Listen, for the record, just because Dick was relatively well adjusted compared to the rest of his family didn’t necessarily mean he always had good coping mechanisms.

 

Like right now.

 

Normally, Dick did his best to avoid alcohol. A few unfortunate experiences in the wild child days of his youth had made him wary of the stuff, as well as the knowledge that his adhd made him more susceptible to addiction. Normally, he didn’t like to take chances like that.

 

Normally, Dick didn’t feel like he was suffocating, didn’t feel like his body and soul were slowly being crushed under the weight on his shoulders, and his heart. Normally he didn’t feel like Atlas condemned. Normally, he could handle a minor inconvenience like missing his bus without feeling a beat from breaking down in the middle of the sidewalk. Normally he didn’t feel so lonely and out of it that it was as if he were living in a separate dimension, his friends and family all on the other side of greasy, blurry glass. Thick, bulletproof, impenetrable glass.

 

So normally, Dick didn’t find himself hunched over the polished surface of the bar in some hole in the wall a few blocks down from his apartment at one am, nursing his however-too-many-th drink of the night.

 

He leaned back up to ask the bartender for a refill, but before he could make his mouth open and make words come out he swayed dangerously on his stool, nearly toppling back onto the floor. The bartender had to grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him forward to keep him from falling.

 

“I think you’ve had enough.” Said the bartender when she got Dick straightened out, pointing a stern finger at him.

 

Dick pouted, putting on his best puppy dog eyes. “Aw…  _please_? Just  _one_ more?” He pushed his glass forward.

 

The bartender considered this for a moment. Eventually the puppy dog eyes won out and she conceded.

 

“Fine, only a little bit, and it’s your last one, but only because you’re cute, okay?” She said, pouring a tiny little bit more into Dick’s glass.

 

Dick frowned deeply, leaning away like he’d been burned. “  _No_! Stop it! See, that’s what I’m talking about!” He wailed, even though he hadn’t really been talking about anything thus far so much as mumbling incoherently into the bartop.

 

“Everyone is always looking at me! People always look at me, but they never see me, they only look at me because they think they just can because of how I look or how I’m dressed and I just— why can’t people ever look at me on  _my_ terms?”

 

The bartender watched, shocked silent by Dick’s outburst, as he ran his hands frantically through his hair and glared at the shiny wood of the bar. She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

 

“Okay, uh, you know what, actually, I’m sorry,” She said. “I shouldn’t have tried to flirt with you while you’re inebriated anyway. That was my bad.”

 

That seemed to calm Dick down a bit. He continued to stare at the bar, sniffing slightly. “It’s okay.” He said. “Thank you for apologizing. I just wish— I wish people would stop acting like they’re enti— entitled to me and my body or whatever. It got old fast.”

 

The bartender hummed in understanding, slowly sliding Dick’s forgotten drink away. Yeah, he  _had_ had enough, actually.

 

“I wish having a body was optional.” Dick concluded miserably.

 

The bartender didn’t have anything to say to that. A few minutes passed as Dick continued to stare into space, lost in his thoughts.

 

The little bell on the door jingled lightly as someone walked into the nearly empty bar.

 

“Grayson.”

 

Dick whipped around at the sound of a familiar voice next to him. He overshot, though, and lost his balance, toppling fully off his barstool. Tiger was barely able to catch him in time before he hit the floor.

 

Dick giggled drunkenly, gazing up at the other man with wide eyes. “Heyyy, Tony,” Dick said around an alcohol heavy tongue. “What’re you doin’ here?”

 

Tiger glared at Dick. “We were supposed to meet tonight. You never showed up. I’ve been looking for you all night.”

 

Dick managed to right himself until he was (sort of) standing on his own two feet. His face fell. “Oh no,” he gasped, guilt sinking heavy in his gut like a stone. “I’m so sorry, I totally forgot… I’ve had a rough day.”

 

“I can see that,” Tiger grumbled. He kept a steadying hand on Dick’s side. “I— it’s alright. I was just worried about you, idiot. Disappearing without a trace is unlike you.”

 

“‘M sorry…” Dick said again, slumping forward into Tiger’s chest, resting his chin on Tiger’s shoulder. Exhaustion pulled at him suddenly, and Tiger should sense it. He fished his wallet out of his pocket one handed, the other still wrapped around Dick, and dropped a few bills down onto the bartop for the bartender to collect.

 

“Did you leave her a really big tip?” Dick asked as Tiger started leading him out the door. “Make sure to leave a big tip, She was nice!”

 

Tiger sighed. “Yes, I did, as recompense for having to put up with  _you_.”

 

“M’kay.” Dick waved goodbye to the bartender and she waved back. Then they were out the door and Tiger was leading Dick down the street towards his apartment.

 

Getting there wasn’t that hard, but about halfway up the stairs Dick started to go limp, and Tiger had to carry him the rest of the way up with a forced longsuffering sigh.

 

Now inside the apartment, Tiger took a second to look around in disgust at the mess before dumping Dick unceremoniously down onto the couch, which was miraculously clear of clutter. Dick was just happy to finally be horizontal, and burrowed deeper into the lumpy cushion.

 

Tiger went to the kitchen and filled a glass of water at the sink.

 

“Tiger?” Dick called from the living room, voice filled with panic. “Where’d you go?”

 

“Here, Richard,” Tiger walked back into Dick’s line of sight, glass of water in hand. Dick was sitting up on the couch, all semblance of sleepiness forgotten. The line of his shoulders was tense and he was gripping the cushion with white knuckles. Tiger noticed, with mild alarm, heavy tears gathered in Dick’s eyes, threatening to fall at any second.

 

“Oh, good,” Dick breathed. “I thought you’d left me.”

 

Tiger frowned. “Why would I have left?”

 

Dick looked down, biting his lip. “Well… because everyone does.” He whispered. “Whether they meant to or not.”

 

Tiger’s frown deepened, concern tugging at his insides. “Richard? What do you mean?”

 

“I mean… Tiger, either I stop being able to please people and they toss me aside or they just  _die._ ” A tear escaped down Dick’s cheek, then another, and another, until they were pouring out in streams and his breath came in gasps and sobs. “I’m so alone, Tiger, please— please don’t leave me alone. I’m afraid of what I might do if I’m alone tonight.”

 

A stabbing pain ripped its way through Tiger’s heart upon hearing Dick’s choked out words. Quickly he set the glass aside and kneeled on the floor in front of Dick, reaching forward. As gently as he could, more gently than Tiger had ever done anything, he wiped away Dick’s tears and pulled him into a tight embrace.

 

Dick openly sobbed into his shoulder, the dam that kept all these negative emotions at bay broken. This was just how Dick did feelings— he locked it away, and when it became too much he let it all out at once, and when it started it couldn’t stop again until he was completely drained. Then the process would begin again in the morning.

 

Tiger pulled him closer. Dick grabbed the back of Tiger’s shirt and held on tight, way too tight, like he thought it he let go for even a second Tiger would disappear. Actually, maybe that was genuinely what Dick thought. The man was still very inebriated. All Tiger could do was hold him through it.

 

It physically hurt, now, like a serrated blade sawing it’s way through Tiger’s ribs, to think about the pain he used to want to inflict on this man. What a fool his past self had been, to only see the shallowest, most artificial parts of the man in his arms right now.

 

Eventually Dick’s tears started to subside, and, slightly calmer, he pulled his face out of Tiger’s neck. Tiger said nothing, had no words, not right now, only picked up the glass of water once again and offered it to Dick.

 

Dick took the glass with shaking hands and raised it slowly to his lips. Tiger helped him keep steady as he sipped the water, and ran a hand soothingly through Dick’s hair. He pushed his sweaty bangs off his forehead, absentmindedly thinking that Dick needed to wash his hair.

 

They did that until the glass was empty, and Tiger set it aside again.

 

“Why are you being so kind to me?” Dick asked suddenly, voice smaller than it had any right to be.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Dick sniffled. “You used to hate me. You-- you’re supposed to hate me. But you don’t, anymore.”

 

Tiger didn’t know what to say. Dick was saying it like it was a bad thing. “I… do you  _want_ me to hate you?”

 

Dick buried his face in his hands, shaking his head vigorously. “Yes-- no-- I don’t know! I don’t wan’ you to hate me but-- but-- but you  _should_ hate me. I deserve it.” His shoulders started to shake. Tiger was sure he was crying again.

 

“Richard-- Dick,  _no_. You don’t deserve to be hated. You deserve so much, but never that. You deserve all the love and good things in the world. Never that.” Tiger said, desperate for Dick to understand. Dick was-- Dick wasn’t perfect, but he was also the most wonderful person in the world. He’d saved Tiger from himself without even realizing what he’d done. For him to not see his own value was an unrivaled tragedy.

 

Tiger sat next to Dick on the couch and put what he hoped was a comforting hand around his shoulders. Dick leaned into the touch until he was practically lying on Tiger’s chest. Tiger continued to play with his hair as more tears soaked his shirt.  _At least,_ Tiger thought,  _this bout of crying is much less hysterical._

 

“I’m sorry you have to see this…” Dick said into his chest, voice muffled. “Normally people only ever see happy, cheerful Dick, who smiles and cracks jokes and doesn’t let anything get him down, but… but it’s all a façade. A mask. I told myself all my life I wouldn’t end up like Bruce, I could let myself be happy, but, in the end… in the end I am all the parts of him I never wanted to be. God, aren’t I pathetic? Sometimes I don’t think I could be happy if I tried.”

 

Tiger hummed. “You’re far from pathetic, Dick.” He said, keeping his voice low, aware that Dick would likely be drifting off to sleep soon. “You’re the strongest and most honourable man I know. You will get through this, and you will come out on top, of that I am certain.”

 

“Thank you… Tiger, I-- please… don’t leave… stay with me tonight?”

 

Tiger hummed again. “Of course I will.”

 

Dick let out a long sigh, and his tears finally stopped for good. He buried his face into Tiger’s chest, despite how uncomfortable the material of the man’s armoured vest was. Tiger in turn wrapped his arms around Dick, holding him close and tight like he obviously needed.

 

Within minutes Dick had drifted into a heavy but fitful sleep, and Tiger sighed, rising from the couch and lifting Dick with him. He carried him to his bedroom and carefully placed him on the bed. Slowly, Tiger removed Dick’s socks and his jeans (thankful that the man was wearing underwear, as he had been uncertain due to Dick’s past jokes about going commando, and he didn’t want to accidentally see something Dick didn’t want him to see) and replaced them with a pair of gray sweatpants he found on the floor. Then he grabbed the thick duvet from its crumpled up position at the foot of the bed and straightened it out, pulling it up to Dick’s chin and tucking him in. Then, sentimentality controlling his hands, he pushed Dick’s bangs back again.

 

Tiger did not have many opportunities for casual touch.

 

He pulled away, intent on spending the night on the couch, when a hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed his wrist.

 

“You promised you’d stay…?” Dick mumbled, awake again, if only barely, and looking up at him with dewey, irresistible eyes.

 

“I know, I’m just going to the living room.” He made to extract his hand, but Dick only gripped tighter and tugged him closer.

 

“Stay.”

 

Tiger sighed again. “Fine.”

 

He pulled off his turban, gloves and vest, then unlaced his boots and removed his socks, before moving to the other side of the bed. He lifted the covers and climbed in, settling in at a perfectly reasonable and polite distance away from Dick, which he could do easily because it was a rather large bed. But the minute he settled in Dick scooted over and draped himself all across him.

 

Dick smiled as he laid his head on Tiger’s chest. Like this, without the vest, he could hear Tiger’s heart beating and the heat of his skin. It soothed something deep inside of him. He smiled wider when Tiger wrapped his arms around him again, and he quickly started to fall properly asleep like that. He mumbled into Tiger’s chest as the last dredges of consciousness started to leave him.

 

“You really don’t hate me anymore?”

 

“No,” Tiger said, looking up at the ceiling. “I haven’t hated you in a long time.” He glanced down at Dick, and, seeing that his eyes were closed, confident he had fully fallen asleep, Tiger finished his thought aloud. “In fact, I think… at some point over the years, I fell in love with you instead.”

 

Dick didn’t react, and Tiger was perfectly perfectly fine with the idea that he didn’t even hear Tiger’s confession.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are a little lighter come morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here’s part two lol

Tiger felt himself waking up automatically once it was nearly sunrise, a long-standing habit. He looked down at where Dick was still pressed against him and smiling softly. The man was sleeping almost fully on top of him, draped across his torso, head on his chest and legs tangled around his legs. A selfish part of Tiger thought he would like to stay like this forever and ever, wrapped up in Dick Grayson while the vigilante got his desperately needed rest. But a more logical part of Tiger knew he couldn’t. For one, he had to get up for prayer, which he only ever missed when he was literally physically incapable, like if he’d been knocked unconscious, and two, Tiger had no right to lay claim to Dick’s embrace like this.

 

Slowly and carefully Tiger started to extract himself from Dick’s octopus-like grip. He almost succeeded, thinking he was free as he started to leave the bed, only to be stopped by Dick grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

 

“Where ya goin’?” Dick asked groggily, eyes barely even open. Tiger reached down and indulgently tucked a stray lock of hair behind Dick’s ear.

 

“To pray.” He said.

 

“Oh, okay.” Dick mumbled. “Are ya comin’ back after?”

 

Tiger just looked at Dick for a moment, taking him in in his half-asleep state. His relaxed face, his ruffled hair, his ocean eyes still hazy with sleep. Tiger almost had to catch his breath. The cause of his eventual demise wasn’t going to be any bullet or blade, but Dick Grayson’s sheer beauty, of that he was certain.

 

“Yes.” He said.

 

Dick grinned, wide and laidback. “Okay.” He said, dropping his head back onto the pillow. He fell asleep instantly, still smiling.

 

This time Tiger really _did_ have to catch his breath. He fought the urge to press a kiss to Dick’s temple and instead stepped out of the room to find a place to pray.

 

Later when he was done, Tiger returned to the bedroom as promised, and noticed a few picture frames sitting on Dick’s bedside table. He picked up the largest one, examining the contents of the picture.

 

It looked like it was taken recently, in Wayne Manor. It was a picture of Dick and all his siblings, huddled close together in order to fit inside the frame. It looked like they’d tried to take a nice family photo and failed miserably.

 

Between everything Tiger already knew of Dick’s family and everything Dick had told him, Tiger was able to identify everyone in the picture. There was Tim Drake, in the middle of a sneeze. The girl next to him was surely Cassandra Cain, whose figure was heavily blurred as she appeared to be in the middle of attacking a very large and bulky young man Tiger understood to be Jason Todd. Todd was obviously screaming and scrambling away. In his attempt to flee, frozen in frame, he’d begun to bowl over Duke Thomas, the newest addition to the family, who looked more than a little uncomfortable.

 

On the other side of Drake stood Dick, laughing so hard like he hadn’t a care-- or responsibility--  in the world. In the photo Dick had one arm around Drake’s shoulders and another around a much shorter person’s. Damian Wayne… came up to Dick’s shoulder, which… didn’t seem right. Tiger had _met_ Damian Wayne, as Robin, just under a month ago, and then the boy didn’t even come up past Dick’s armpit.

 

In the photo, the strangely, suddenly much taller Damian wore a glare that could level cities, and a closer look proved that the hand Dick had on Damian’s shoulder was actually clamped down in a white-knuckled grip. The young barely-a-teen had probably already made several attempts to leave before this picture was taken.

 

Next to Damian was a blonde girl sticking her tongue out at the camera and holding two fingers up behind his head. Tiger guessed this was Stephanie Brown, who had never been formally adopted but was always around anyway. According to Dick, she and Cassandra were devising a plan to get married so that Bruce could no longer complain about Stephanie hanging around the manor, but, and Dick had told Tiger not to tell Cass this, as if Tiger would ever have an opportunity or desire to exchange gossip with Cassandra Cain, Steph was actually planning to propose for real.

 

Tiger huffed out a tiny breath of laughter. It was a ridiculous, chaotic photo, and it was exactly the kind of photo one would expect Dick to have framed. He quietly placed it back on the table, shooting a glance at the other frames. One was a candid of Damian, curled up on a sunny couch with a black and white cat, fast asleep. Another was much, much older, taken probably about fifteen years ago, featuring a much younger Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, and Alfred Pennyworth. There was a fourth frame, containing an old picture but not as old as the last one, of Dick and the other Titans when they were teenagers, smiling together.

 

It was while he was looking at this photo that a rustling from the bed caught his attention. It was Dick, shifting in his sleep. He hadn’t woken up yet, though, so Tiger took the opportunity to put his turban and his socks (he didn’t want to walk around barefoot for another second in the toxic landfill that was Dick’s apartment) back on.

 

Tiger turned back to look at Dick, then, who was still fast asleep and surely would be for some time to come. For a moment Tiger considered leaving the room to try and tame the insurmountable pigsty that was Dick’s living space, but something kept him glued in place. He… Tiger had promised Dick he would stay. So stay he would. And after last night, Tiger just didn’t want Dick to wake up alone.

 

So he started picking up all the laundry from Dick’s bedroom floor and putting it in the neglected hamper. As he did he uncovered books, papers, pens, vigilante gear and dirty dishes like some sort of archeologist. He organized the papers he came across, putting them in neat stacks in an attempt to tidy the desk. He found some jackets and clothes that had to have been clean but had been thrown on the ground anyway, and put those away where they belonged. Dirty tissues, takeout boxes, candy wrappers and other assorted garbage went _in_ the garbage. All the dirty dishes-- plates, cups, mugs, cutlery, were stacked near the door to be brought to the kitchen later. Next to the bed, Tiger picked up a raggedy looking towel-- only to reveal two very… _conspicuous_ adult toys hidden on the floor underneath. Slowly, Tiger looked between them and the towel pinched between his fingers, and slowly lowered the towel back to its place on the ground.

 

Eventually Tiger ran out of things to clean and organize within the bedroom, and, with hours surely left until Dick woke up, he plucked a book from Dick’s shelves (Some victorian-era romance that doubled as a murder mystery) and started to read.

 

He was nearly done the book, seated at the foot of the bed, when there was another rustling of sheets, and a muffled groan. Tiger turned around to see Dick blinking his eyes open. Dick looked around for a moment, confusion clear on his face, before he spotted Tiger by the bed and his eyes widened in surprise.

 

“Tiger!” He gasped, sitting up too quickly. Dick swayed a little in place, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his head against the sudden onslaught of what must have been a killer hangover. “Ough… when did you get here?”

 

Tiger raised an eyebrow at him, setting the book aside. “You were very intoxicated last night. Do you not remember?”

 

Dick squinted at him. “Uh, no, I don’t-- _oh, no_! We didn’t-- oh, no, I’m still clothed, okay-- wait, oh, I didn’t _try to_ \-- did I--?”

 

Tiger huffed, cutting off Dick’s verbal flailing. “No, nothing happened of that sort. You just cried a lot.”

 

Dick groaned, hiding his face in his hands again. “Aw, I didn’t say anything embarrassing, did I?” His voice was muffled by his palms. Tiger smirked, mostly for show, even though Dick wasn’t looking at him.

 

“Absolutely, you did.”

 

Not really, but let Dick think he had just gushed about how amazing and talented some woman named Rihanna that Tiger had never heard of was (which had happened, once, ages ago, while Dick had been heavily drugged) instead of revealed a deeply personal and troubling sorrow.

 

Dick groaned again, bordering on whining. “... Could you get me some advil?” He looked up at Tiger with full-force puppy dog eyes. “My head is killing me…”

 

Tiger just huffed again, walking out of the room to go brave Dick’s disaster of a medicine cabinet.

 

He came back twelve minutes later after a brush with death, in which the contents of Dick’s bathroom cabinets had all toppled out on him, armed with a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water, only to find Dick curled up under the blankets again. Only the top of his head was visible, messy dark hair peeking out from under the duvet.

 

“Grayson, get out of bed and take your damn pills.” Tiger set the items down on the bedside table, next to the photos. “Don’t you have a job to go to?”

 

“No…” Dick sat up, slower this time, and grabbed the bottle and the water. “Studio’s closed on Saturdays… wait, it _is_ Saturday today, right?”

 

Tiger nodded. Dick sighed in relief, popping two pills into his mouth and swallowing them down with a big gulp of water. Then he kept inhaling the water until the glass was completely empty. As he set it back down on the bedside table, Dick’s gaze caught on the picture frames there.

 

Tiger noticed, thinking back to what Dick said the night before, about being alone. It was obvious, in the darkening swirl of his eyes, locked on the photo of him and the Titans, that a lot of Dick’s sadness still lingered. He struggled to find something to say to Dick that would make him feel better.

 

“Why don’t you reach out to them, if you miss your friends so much?” Was what he ended up with, and even as the words left Tiger’s mouth he knew they weren’t the right ones.

 

Dick’s face semi-crumpled in a strange way. He bit his lip, saying nothing, until his gaze fell to the floor.

 

“Somehow, I don't think there’s very good cell reception in the afterlife.” He said, voice hollow, and Tiger has no response. Then Dick was throwing the covers off and standing up, brushing past Tiger. “I need a shower.”

 

A moment later Tiger heard the water turn on down the hall. He walked out of the bedroom, passing the closed bathroom door on his way to the kitchen, and reflected on everything that had happened so far.

 

Dick wasn’t as talkative as he usually was— obviously sleep hadn’t done much in the way of bettering his mood. Tiger wondered how well he really knew Dick Grayson. He didn’t think there was a real Dick Grayson and a fake one as Dick had seemed to imply, but more like there were just different parts of Dick he showed to different people, and parts of him he didn’t show anyone.

 

The Dick Grayson that sang and cracked jokes and brushed off Tiger’s sourness with a laugh _was_ the real Dick Grayson. But so was this one, the one who was sad and pensive and subdued. There was another one, too, a Dick Grayson whose temper flared and burned hotter than a thousand suns, whose tongue was sharp and vicious.

 

Dick Grayson was all of these at the same time, not oscillating between any of them at any given time. He was complex and he was fascinating.

 

And Tiger loved him for it. He probably ought to stop denying it.

 

He was digging through the fridge when Dick emerged, hair still dripping wet and wrapped up in a fluffy blue housecoat— _only_ a fluffy blue housecoat, that only came down to his mid-thigh. Tiger’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Dick smiled sheepishly at him.

 

“Sorry,” Dick laughed, sitting himself down on a stool at the kitchen’s island. “I don’t have any clean pants. Or underwear.” He crossed his legs, causing the housecoat to fall open and reveal several inches more of smooth brown skin and—

 

Tiger looked away, turning back to the disaster of a fridge to hide a blush he couldn’t fight down. But Dick noticed anyway, and laughed at him.

 

“What, a little too scandalous for you, Tony?”

 

“Don’t call me that.” Tiger grumbled reflexively. At least Dick seemed to be in better spirits, now, even if it was at Tiger’s expense. He checked the expiry date on a carton of milk. It only had a few more days left until it went bad. “Grayson, don’t you have _anything_ to eat here?”

 

“I have cereal.”

 

“I don’t know what that artificially flavoured garbage in your cupboard is, but it is not cereal.”

 

“I have bread.”

 

“Your bread is all stale. It’s like crackers.”

 

“I have Nutella and peanut butter that you could put _on_ the bread.”

 

“That bread is not edible no matter what you put on it.”

 

“You could eat the Nutella or the peanut butter right out of the jar.”

 

“Don’t be disgusting. Also, that’s not peanut butter, that’s peanut butter flavoured _icing_.”

 

“I have Thai leftovers.”

 

Tiger glanced in the fridge again. “No, you don’t.”

 

“Oh. I must have eaten them already.”

 

Tiger shut the fridge with a sigh. “I would say I can't believe you live like this, but really, I’m not surprised at all.”

 

“Hey,” Dick pouted at him. “If you’re going to insult me in my own home the least you could do is make me some coffee.”

 

Tiger glared at him, and Dick switched out his pout for his sweetest, most charming grin. “Pretty please?” He topped it all off by batting his eyelashes.

 

So obviously there wasn’t really anything Tiger could do except give in. It was out of his power, unfortunately. After all, he was only a man. “Fine.”

 

While the coffee was brewing Tiger took the opportunity to discreetly observe Dick, trying to figure out if he really was feeling better or if he was just acting like it for Tiger’s sake. At least he _looked_ a lot better, that was for sure-- the heavy bags under his eyes had cleared up and there was a little more colour in his cheeks. His eyes seemed less haunted as he kept up his continuous stream of chatter and his posture seemed more relaxed.

 

Dick’s housecoat loosened with his animated hand gestures, revealing a flash of mottled yellow, green and purple bruises covering his side before he pulled it closed again. Tiger frowned. Those looked really bad. Where had they come from?

 

It felt like asking, though, would be taking too many liberties, so Tiger acted as if he didn’t see anything.  

 

“So, okay, be honest. What _did_ happen last night?” Dick asked once they were both seated with a steaming mug of coffee in their hands (Tiger’s had just little enough milk and sugar in it to barely alter the colour of his coffee, but Dick’s was so filled with cream it was almost white). Tiger raised a dubious eyebrow at him.

 

“You really don’t remember a single thing?”

 

Dick’s face scrunched up with effort while he wracked his brain for memories, and Tiger allowed himself to privately think it was, in fact, cute.

 

“I remember going to the bar, ordering a drink, drinking way too much…” Dick rubbed his chin, concentrating. “After that it’s pretty much blank— wait, oh my god! I think I’ve got something— it’s right there, so close, I’ve almost got it—“

 

He pressed his fingers to his temple like he was some sort of psychic having an intense vision or something, squinting into the distance as he tried to remember. Tiger put on an expression of intense un-amusement at Dick’s theatrics.

 

Suddenly Dick gasped, looking at Tiger with wide eyes. “Oh my god!” He yelled. “ _You_ said you _loved me_!”

 

Tiger’s jaw and stomach dropped. He tried to go for the denial route. “I did not—“

 

But Dick wasn’t having it. “You did! You _did_! I know you did!”

 

Well, he was caught. “You— how is _that_ the only thing you remember!?” Tiger sputtered in a rather undignified way. “I thought you had fallen asleep!”

 

“You asshole! You absolute prick!” Dick shouted, leaping off his stool and jabbing an accusatory finger into Tiger’s meaty chest. “Waiting until you thought I was asleep, I can’t believe you!”

 

Tiger had just started returning Dick’s fierce glare when what the other man said next made his brain short-circuit.

 

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say something like that? And then you went and did it like a coward, you _bastard_ —“

 

“Wait.” Tiger cut him off. “You— what? You mean to say that… you feel the same?”

 

Dick ran his hands exasperatedly down his face like _Tiger_ was the idiot here. “ _Jesus fucking Christ—_ “ he muttered under his breath before returning to his previous volume. “Duh! I’ve only been flirting with you for, like, three years, thanks for noticing!”

 

He went to continue on ranting, but Tiger had heard enough. He stood up, barreling through Dick’s barrage of words, grabbed the sides of is face, and kissed him.

 

If Tiger knew this was all it took to get Dick to shut up then he would have done it years ago, because the effect was instantaneous. Dick practically melted under him, arms immediately wrapping around Tiger’s torso to pull him closer. Tiger responded by leaning further into the kiss, causing Dick to arch backwards in a way that probably would have been uncomfortable for anyone else.

 

“Now that’s more like it,” Dick murmured against Tiger’s lips as they eased out of the kiss.

 

“For once, I have to agree with you.” Tiger said. Dick smiled at him in a way that filled Tiger’s chest with light, and for a second Tiger wondered if he would ever be able to give Dick the same feeling, because it was a wonderful one indeed.

 

“Say it again,” Dick said. “I want to hear you say it again.”

 

Tiger held Dick’s face close to his still, careful like Dick was a precious thing (he was) and looked into his eyes as honestly as he could. “I love you, Dick Grayson.” He declared, tenderness in his voice, and vowed to treasure the memory of how Dick’s face brightened at the admission forever.

 

“I love you, too.” Dick said. He pulled Tiger into another kiss, this one even more delicious than the last, made sweet by the words that now hung between them.

 

It felt good to speak the truth. To finally tell Dick for real that he had Tiger’s heart, and it felt even better to know that Tiger has Dick’s.


End file.
